Clothes Don't Make The Man
by xephwrites
Summary: Castiel has gone, leaving Jimmy hunting with the Winchesters. WARNINGS: me writing first person, infidelity, swearing


I see how he looks at me. He accepts that I am no longer an angelic vessel, treats me courteously, and has accepted my presence on his and his brother's lifelong road trip to save the world. They treat me almost like family now.

I can't go back to my beloved Amelia and by beautiful Claire. They are known to the angels and demons, and they've already fallen victim to their abuse once. I can't put them through that again. Instead, I travel with the Winchesters, and send them post cards letting them know I still love them. I sign them only "Love J". Dean says even doing that is dangerous, but Sam gives him that face, and Dean leaves it alone.

Sam is easy to get along with. He is a brilliant young man with a warm kind heart. Dean has a good heart as well, but tends to be more abrasive. I can't blame him, really. I cannot fathom what both of them have been through in their lives.

Almost immediately after Castiel left to return to the ranks of Heaven, they started training me. I'm sure I'll never reach the level of talent that the brother's possess, but I can hold my own. In my life before, I was never one for guns or violence, but being thrown in the middle of a war like this, you adapt quickly.

My first hunt was what they deemed an easy one. "Salt, burn, lather, rinse, repeat," as Dean said. Dean handed me a sawed off shotgun, loaded with rock salt rounds. Sam gave Dean an odd questioning look, like maybe the gun meant something. Dean shrugged it off.

"If the bitch shows up, shoot her. Try not to shoot me or Sammy." He said before taking his own gun and heading into the cemetery. I walked beside Sam, and asked him if there was a problem with the gun I was given.

"Just-seriously, don't lose it. It's Dean's." Was the only answer Sam gave me.

I fired it once at the ghost. I hit her too. I also hurt my shoulder. Dean treated it like it was a rite of passage as he handed me an icepack and a bottle of cheap whiskey back in the motel room.

Later that night, after more bottles of whiskey almost appeared out of thin air, Dean was staring at me. I knew he wasn't quite drunk, as I've seen him in a drunken stupor through Castiel's eyes. But he kept staring at me like he was looking for something, or someone.

It didn't take me long to figure out he was looking for Castiel.

Dean wanted me to join him while he interviewed witnesses for the latest case. I put on the only suit I had, which was the one Castiel always wore. It really was my suit, but it seemed more like his. I only wore it once before, and that was to my cousin's wedding. Really, Castiel got more use out of it than I ever did.

Stepping out of the bathroom adjusting the blue tie, Dean avoided looking at me. Even during the car ride and all the interviews, he would deliberately not look at me. And that made me angry.

Back at the motel room, I slammed the door shut.

"What the hell is your problem, Dean?" I shouted. "This was for me to learn how to do the job, not be ignored by you. How in the hell am I supposed to learn how to interview people if you treat me like I'm not there?"

Dean's expression was hard until he faced me. It morphed into something else. My fists were clenched at my sides. I watched him struggle to find words.

"It's Castiel, isn't it?" I bit out. Dean's expression hardened again. "He's not coming back, so don't bother hoping for it."

"Then why the fuck are you wearing his clothes?" Dean shouted back. I let out an incredulous laugh.

"They're my clothes. He wore my body and my clothes. Stop acting like I took him away from you!" I pulled the tie off of my neck and threw it in the waste basket. "Castiel made the choice to leave, I didn't force him out." Dean shook his head and turned his back on me.

"Don't fucking talk about him like that." Dean grumbled. "You have no clue."

"Really?" I asked. "You don't think I know how you felt about each other?" Dean spun around. "It's not exactly a secret. He was in my head and body for nearly two years. And it was written all over your face when he was around." Dean stormed towards the door.

"This conversation is over." He threw over his shoulder as he walked out the door. I heard the rumble of the Impala and its tires screech as he pulled out of the parking lot.

My cell phone chirped, telling me I had a message from Sam. It said he was still comforting the sister of the victim. Most likely they fell to each other's charms and he would be sharing her bed tonight.

I changed into sweat pants and a t shirt and took one of the laptops. I began looking for leads for our next case. There's got to be something nearby we could look into after this one.

I'm not sure how long I sat with the computer on my lap, or exactly when I drifted off. When I woke up, it was dark in the room, and the computer's battery had died. As I was plugging it in, I heard the Impala return. Dean fumbled with the lock on the door before opening it with a curse and a kick.

He'd been drinking. Not drunk, but he looked a little disheveled. His eyes met mine and he put a half hearted sneer.

"What, you waitin up for me like some kind of mother hen?" He said as he removed his suit jacket.

"Just doing some research." I said coldly. I slipped into Sam's bed, knowing he won't be back tonight. Dean laughed.

"Sammy's bed?" Dean said, almost tripping as he stepped out of the dress pants.

"Consoling the victim's sister." I said as I punched the pillow. Dean whooped.

"Little Sammy's gettin laid!" He giggled as he flopped face first onto his bed, his dress shirt still on. We were silent for a full minute before Dean spoke again.

"I'm not expecting you to be him." He said into the pillow. I smiled to myself. That was as close to an apology that I'll get from him, especially in this state.

"Okay." I said back. It was a little too warm under the blanket, so I shucked the sweats off and dropped them to the floor.

I was drifting off to sleep when I felt the bed dip beside me. Dean slid under the blanket, his dress shirt now gone.

"I just…" he started. "I dunno. Sometimes…" he trailed off.

"I understand." I said, Amelia flashing through my memories.

I felt his hand slide along the mattress and up my thigh. I tensed.

"I'll stop." He whispered. I grabbed his hand and stopped it from moving.

It's been so long, and I don't really care if it's misdirected. I'm so sorry Amelia.

"Don't stop." I whispered back.


End file.
